Disclaimer: Nope, still don't own The Worst Witch; more's the pity.
Love In The First 39 Degrees
Chapter 2
The door gently creaked open as she tiptoed into the room, mentally shushing the sound her trainers made as they bounced off the flagstone. Closing it over as quietly as she could, she stood for a minute, just watching the sleeping witch. It was a rare sight to see.
It occurred to Imogen that she had never seen what the woman looked like when she was asleep. She only ever saw her during the day, when she was stalking the corridors of the castle, usually scowling; her dark eyes boring into you like a laser, and she was surprised to notice , for the first time, just how breathtakingly beautiful the sleeping beauty truly was, even though she was suffering from a bad case of the flu.
Working in a busy close-contact environment as they did, there was always someone that was sick with one thing or another; usually it was one of the girls and occasionally it was one of the staff but in all the years she had been at the school she had never known it to be Constance Hardbroom. The woman seemed to have an iron-immune defence system.
Imogen didn't fail to spot the irony in her own thought.
She seemed to have an iron-immune defence system because that is what she wanted you to believe. It was yet another piece of the mask that Constance used to conceal her true self: she had to be seen as strong and powerful; she didn't want to be seen as weak and she most certainly did not want pitied when at her most vulnerable.
She had to admit though she was more than a little surprised that it had seemingly thrown the witch off her feet as it had but had to agree that it did stand to reason because whilst Constance was great at looking out for and protecting others, when it came to her own well-being, she rarely followed her own advice. In fact, she never followed her own advice.
Rather than just admit to feeling unwell and taking a few days off for the necessary rest and recuperation, she chose to mask any discomfort she was suffering from with a concoction of potions and a feigned fineness. It was a short- term fix and, as soon as the effects of the potion had worn off, she was left feeling significantly worse than before. Not that she would ever admit to it.
Imogen was quite certain that had she not fainted in the staffroom the previous evening and been practically ordered to bed by a concerned Amelia, she would be doing exactly that now, and even though she had told them over and over again that she was 'perfectly fine'; it was apparent she was anything but...
It was a reminder that even Constance-the -all –powerful- witch-Hardbroom, wasn't quite as invincible as she tried very hardly to portray and, at the end of the day, she was indeed human. And tucked up under the bedcovers, yet still shivering as she coughed wildly in her sleep; the action wracking her whole body and her normally pale complexion flushed with a rising fever, that humanity looked so fragile; like a little china doll that Imogen just wanted to take in her arms and take care of.
She was so entranced that she had failed to notice the two glassy brown eyes that were now staring back at her as a voice broke into her thoughts.
"Are you planning on standing there like a Tussuads' waxwork all day, Miss Drill?"
There was no real energy in the delivery and there was certainly no disguising the hoarse whisper as the words croaked from her swollen throat; sending fresh waves of agony to it with every syllable spoken. It was such a far cry from her usually confident and dulcet tones but she point-blank refused to be seen in any more vulnerable a state than the one she was currently in, so was putting on a front, namely with her sharp tongue.
"Uh...no, no. I brought you some tea, honey."
The words had tumbled out of her mouth before she could even realise what she had said and unable to take them back, she faltered, momentarily looking to the exhausted brown eyes before attempting to dig herself out of the hole she was close to falling into.
"Tea with honey-I mean I've brought you some honey-flavoured tea...you know to try help to soothe your throat and stuff..."
She could hear the words coming out of her own mouth and her brains will for her to stop talking.
'For the love of god Imogen... shut up...just shut up!'
The last thing Constance wanted was fuss. She absolutely hated anyone witnessing her in such a state of weakness, much preferring instead to just suffer in silence, rather than be a burden to anyone else, but even she could not deny that anything that could potentially ease the aching of her throat was a welcome relief. The rawness of it was so acute it was like having swallowed a bunch of razor blades.
"Th-ank you."
Unsure of what else to say, Imogen quietly crossed the room and carefully placed the cup and saucer on the bedside table. Her mind was still reeling as she replayed her words from just moments before.
'Honey'
She had just referred to Constance Hardroom-of all people- as 'honey'.
Yet...she was still alive.
'Had the witch not heard the slip of the tongue? ... Or was she simply choosing to ignore it, with not having the energy to do any reprimanding?'
"You're welcome." She finally said, flashing a smile. She received a weak one back in return, but it was there nonetheless and she felt her heart skip a beat. She couldn't remember the last time her heart at done that at one of Serge's smiles.
"So," She hesitated for a moment as she racked her brain for something to say.
She and Constance had never really conversed before on anything out with the girls' education and, even then, it was mostly just bickering and a constant clash of opinions. "How are you feeling then?" she asked, eventually ending the sentence and immediately wanting to mentally kick herself for asking such a stupid question.
'How are you feeling then? You idiot! Way to state the blooming obvious! Next thing you'll be talking about the weather.'
"As I told Amelia, I was and still am perfectly fine, and this whole charade is-", she broke off as an unexpected coughing fit, as if on cue, caught in the back of her throat, wracking her whole body; it was agony. It felt as if her lungs were on fire but she remained impassive, continuing after it passed, "-not only unnecessary but also a complete waste of my time!" Her dark eyes stared into Imogen's green ones, but the infamous 'Hardbroom' glare was replaced with glassiness and exhaustion, so it wasn't nearly as effective as normal.
They both knew she was fighting a losing battle.
"Just because the term is over it doesn't mean I haven't other work to do not too mention planning next terms work – it doesn't just fall out of the sky you know?!"
"I know, bu-"
"What are you even doing here anyway? I thought you were off camping with that Neanderthal you call a boyfriend."
Imogen bit down on her tongue trying to prevent herself from saying something she might regret. "I was- I mean I am. We're going next week instead now and since Amelia had to urgently go and visit her Aunt Gertrude, I guess I drew the short straw in looking after you." She joked.
"I see."
The words were barely audible and her voice slightly cracked as she said them. Imogen couldn't tell whether it was from the flu or from emotion.
"You can leave now, Miss Drill."
"B-"
"And just for future reference, I do not need 'looking after.' I have told you already, I'm fine."